The Man Who No One Wants To Recognise
by JustAGirl'xo
Summary: Peter Barlow has always had drama and scandal surrounding his life, yet one friend has remained by his side throughout: the demon drink. As he struggles to deal with his alcoholism alongside the beginning of his blossoming relationship with Carla, will a shock discovery change their lives for the better or destroy them for good?
1. Demons

**A fic with this theme was requested by Leah (madaboutcarla) - or rather, she suggested the storyline so I nicked it ;). Thanks!  
I'll explain more as the story goes on because I don't want to spoil it, but it mainly focuses on Peter, his relationship with Carla, the booze and... Well, you'll just have to wait and find out!  
I hope you like it!**

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The Man Who No One Wants To Recognise

Heartache. Betrayal. Deceit. Demons. The exquisite, blissful sensation of alcoholic liquid trickling down your rasping throat and instantly tickling your nerve endings, distracting you from the horrors of your so-called life. Demons. The heart-racing emotions involved while local vixen Carla Connor's hot, pulsating body lays beneath your own, your lips clamped together, your tongues battling for dominance. Demons. It was safe to say that Peter Barlow and his demons were mortal enemies. He blamed each and every mistake in his screwed up life on them. The loss of his son to his bitter ex-wife; his constant battles with his lover and the difficulties of the love affair of the century; his life-threatening addiction to alcoholic substances, all because of the demons. He sighed heavily, taking a well-earned sip of his drink. He wasn't anywhere special. He was at home, if he could call it that, in his grimy flat filled with bittersweet memories, many of which he would rather forget. Everywhere he looked, he saw Leanne's wicked face grinning back at him with triumph in her eyes; she was haunting him. He'd lost. He'd lost his only son, his only baby. Yes, he had Carla, and he loved her more than life itself, she was his world, but was she worth it? Was she worth losing his child for? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of his doubts. Of course she was worth it. They were going to live happily ever after. He'd never have been happy with Leanne, he'd have regretted losing Carla for the rest of his life. Besides, they could always start a family of their own a few years down the line, not that he considered Carla to be mother material. At that delicate stage in their blossoming relationship, he could think of nothing worse. In years to come, however, it was possible that he'd be able to sweet talk her into it, though a new baby would never, ever replace his son. He'd missed out on so much of his life already – his first  
steps, first words, first smile. He was scared to miss any more. Their time together was precious.

"What have I done?" He groaned, tipping back his head and downing the remaining contents of his bottle, some drops sploshing onto his battered t-shirt. He had no idea when Carla would be returning home. She'd be upset at first to find him searching for his soul in the bottom of a bottle, but eventually she'd realise that his drunken state was for the best and bed him. Then, he'd be able to experience yet another of his guilty pleasures. He adored his time with her, and not just in the bedroom. She was fun. She brought her problems, she was damaged goods, but she was his baby all the same. The love of his life, as it were. She was the one factor of his life that he found more addictive than booze. She'd helped him up when he'd fallen more times than he could remember, and he'd done the same for her when she'd suffered her own difficulties. The only difference was, in the eyes of many, Carla's troubles outweighed his by a large sum. Naturally, a rape, a suicide attempt, a failed court case and a murder suspicion were much better reasons to drown your sorrows than the end of a marriage and a custody battle. This fact, however, often slipped Peter's mind and although he felt selfish for using Carla as a counselling service, he knew that he couldn't cope sober or alone.

"Peter?" came her silky, adoring voice, a hint of puzzlement in her tone, "Baby, are you here?" Carla threw open the door to his flat, giving a low groan as she saw him cradling a bottle of god knows what, "Peter, you promised…" Peter stared at her, his eyes struggling to focus on only one thing due to his drunken state.

"Carla!" he exclaimed, his lips suddenly spreading to a wide grin, "My baby. Come and give us a cuddle…"

"Hell no," Carla muttered, crinkling her nose in sheer disgust, "You're completely wasted and you smell of… What is that stuff?"

"Black pepper and chili vodka. It's nice. It helps me to forget."

"Thanks. What a nice thing for you to say."

"I didn't mean you. I meant all this stuff. It's bringing me down…" Peter replied, taking another swig from his bottle. Carla snorted, sinking onto the sofa in the space beside him and placing a single soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Peter, it's the booze bringing you down, nothing else… Why don't you just come with me, 'ey? Come to bed…" she asked, her emerald eyes pleading.

"No…" Peter whined, "No, I don't want to go to bed. You hate me. Leanne hates me. Simon hates me, even my own dad hates me. I've screwed everything up, us included. I mean, what kind of a relationship is this? You spend all your time picking up the pieces. What would happen if you suddenly went off the rails, 'ey? I doubt I'd be much used to you. I'd probably be egging you on."

"Don't be ridiculous, Peter. You were my rock last year, when I kept drinking myself into oblivion. Now it's my turn to help you, to support you. I'm going to be there for you all the time, whether you like it or not. Now come on, let's get you into bed and you can sleep it off…" Sheepishly, Peter took her arm and used her for balance as he successfully staggered into the bedroom, dumping his empty bottle into the bin as he passed, where it joined the pile of glass with a loud 'clink'. For a few years now, he'd had several days like this. In the past, it had been Leanne providing the support to help him recover. Now, he was ruining Carla's life instead. Yet, as much as he tried to fight the lure of the booze, he couldn't quite overcome the vicious strength of his inner demons.


	2. Hot and Heavy

**Here goes! I know a lot of people will groan at the plotline - truth be told, I don't think I want it to happen in the show, either. But I think it will. And if it does, I'm worried that the scriptwriters will go the wrong way about it and alter Carla's character. So, I've written my idea of how it ****_should_**** go - and believe me, that means upping the amount of scandal, lying and drunkenness surrounding Carla and Peter's relationship!  
I hope you like it, anyway, feel free to let me know your opinions by review or tweet ( welovecorrie ), I'm always open to new suggestions because it only makes me better :)**

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Unsurprisingly, Peter awoke the next morning with the worst headache imaginable. His skull was pounding and he gave a loud, self-pitying groan as he reluctantly pushed himself to a sitting position. A fleeting glance at the heavy-breathing mound curled up beside him told him that Carla was still fast asleep; he watched, adoringly, as her lips cracked into a little smile, her hand subconsciously slipping underneath her pillow. She was so beautiful when she slept. In fact, she somehow managed to be flawlessly beautiful twenty-four/seven, even on the days when she suffered the most. Begrudgingly, Peter slipped out of bed, shrugged on his dressing gown and wandered through to the kitchen area in search of some painkillers to take away the raw sting of his brutal hangover. As far as he was concerned, he'd now dealt with his demons, at least until the desire to drink resurfaced yet again. For now, he was going to embrace his life and try to make the elements that remained as perfect as possible. He threw a quick, absentminded glance to the calendar on the wall which showed the month of July, double-taking and squinting as he forced his tired eyes to read over the dates for a second time. There was a little cross on the date 'Monday 2nd' - which was two weeks prior to where they were now – in Carla's tiny, delicate handwriting, a code that only she and himself were aware of. He frowned. As far as he could remember, that had been the evening of their date in the Bistro, from which they'd returned home and had instantly got hot and heavy on the living room sofa. As a matter of fact, when he thought about it, that entire week had consisted mainly of passionate, undisturbed sex each and every night. Which could only mean…

"Carla?" he called, distracted from his throbbing headache for the moment as he made his way back into the bedroom, his voice piercing through her dreams and causing her to jolt awake.

"What…?" she mumbled, fiercely rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, smudged with black.

"When was the last time you had your period?"

"Er… That's a bit of a random, forward question. Good morning to you, too."

"Don't fabricate it, just answer me…" Peter replied, swooping in to perch on the edge of the bed, an obvious air of concern about his words and movement.

"Oh, I don't know…" Carla sighed, counting on her fingers as she rapidly completed a series of calculations in her head, "Four weeks ago?"

"You were due on the second."

"Six, then. I don't know, Peter. Why, what's wrong?" Peter made no other movement other than the simple kinking of an eyebrow, waiting for the penny to drop. Carla searched his face for an answer until suddenly, she shrank back, a realisation hitting her and causing her stomach to tie in more knots than she could count. "Oh, crap…" she whispered, her mouth slowly dropping open. Peter nodded, pressing his lips together.

"My thoughts exactly."

"Peter, I'm not… I can't be…" Carla stammered, her mind becoming a frenzy of panic, fear and a tornado of emotion.

"I'll be back in a bit," he murmured, quickly slipping on a pair of boxers and his vodka-stained jeans from the night before, throwing on his trademark leather jacket over his grey pyjama top, "I'm just nipping to the chemist."

* * *

The silence that surrounded the terrified couple could have been sliced open with a blunt knife. Carla drummed her fingernails on the coffee table, whilst Peter's eyes remained trained on the wall in front of him, no other thoughts besides those related to their current state able to enter his mind. He was terrified. He wasn't ready for this. Their relationship was so fresh, so young, so troubled. Bringing more havoc into the mess would be nothing but a curse. One minute passed. In his mind, it had seemed like a long, dragging hour.

"What if it _is_ positive?" Carla asked, her voice small and meek, her teeth nervously sinking into her lower lip. Peter shrugged, his expression forlorn.

"If it is, then… Well, we'll just have to cross that bridge with it comes to it," he uttered in response, relying solely on a negative outcome and refusing to consider any other result. The fateful stick lay between them, in the centre of the coffee table. The one little stick that held their entire destiny within its mechanics. One result and they could carry on their difficult lives as usual. Another and their whole world would turn upside down in a split second. Carla drew in a deep breath, furious at herself for not having noticed sooner. How irresponsible did that make her seem? If she couldn't keep track of her own cycle, how on earth would she be able to keep track of another person's routine? She worked full-time. More than that, work was her life. Everything else was scheduled around her meetings, deadlines and conferences. She couldn't slot in another hindrance just like that. It was too much for even the strongest of women to handle.

"I would have to stop working…" she mumbled, twisting a knotted lock of her long, brunette hair around her index finger, "I couldn't carry on as I am now. I mean, I wouldn't sell up or owt like that, but I couldn't run the whole company single-handedly anymore." In response, Peter simply clicked his tongue, not knowing nor able to carefully choose words to string together a comprehensible, unoffensive reply.

"Mm…" he sounded, drawing his eyes from his focal point on the wallpaper and instead resting them on the stick, unable to view the screen from his angle, "Is it time?"

"Round about, yeah. It seems like it's taking forever…"

"Go on, then. Take a look…" he encouraged, anxious to hear whether or not his morning filled with pure worry had been nothing but a waste of time. Slowly, Carla shook her head, shooting him an apologetic little smile.

"Sorry, darling. I can't. I can't be the one to do it."

"But it's your body!"

"It'll be your problem, too. Go on. You do it. You've got more guts than me…" Peter hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the powerful piece of plastic before dramatically curling his fingers around it and drawing his hand in once again. It was the moment of fate. He sluggishly started to flatten his fingers out, coaxing the stick to lie with the screen facing upwards. He peered at it, his heart sinking as the one, single word flashing up on the screen was instantly etched into his memory forever, as though his brain had subconsciously taken a photograph: 'Pregnant'.


	3. The Flashback

**Thank you so much for your lovely comments, both on here and on Twitter! I'm glad you're all so accepting of the plotline! Apologies if this chapter isn't exactly to your taste, I figured adding this big secret to the story would provide Carla with a huge reason to fall off the wagon once again, and that becomes a major part of the story.**

* * *

_Carla grinned, resting her elbows on the kitchen sideboard as she flicked over another page of her hefty book. A little shiver of anticipation coursed through her as she felt her lover's arms snake around her tiny waist, engulfing her in his embrace._

_"What are you reading?" Peter asked, his lips dangerously close to her ear._

_"'The Other Boleyn Girl…'"_

_"Oh, aye? History never seemed like your cup of tea, so why…?"_

_"Because 'Fifty Shades of Grey' is far too mainstream!" Carla laughed, slowly flipping the book closed and standing upright, "It's a love story…"_

_"Any sex in it?"_

_"Nowt graphic, no. It's about the seduction. The king seduces a girl and she becomes his mistress – his wife doesn't know, obviously. The girl's completely in love with him…" Peter raised an eyebrow, startled by its similarity to their own little fairytale._

_"So, this king… When he seduced her, did he kiss her neck, like this?" Peter mumbled, brushing his lips against the nape of Carla's neck, the little hairs all over her body standing on end at their familiar softness._

_"Probably…" she murmured in reply, allowing her eyelids to fall closed. Peter gently turned her to face him, taking advantage of her closed eyes and moving so close that he could feel her unsteady breath against his skin._

_"And did he kiss her… Like this?" he whispered, his lips lightly touching hers, teasingly._

_"Mhm…" was all Carla could manage in reply._

_"And… Did he tell her to come to bed because… Because she was the woman he was madly in love with? His secret queen?" Carla swallowed, her mouth dry with lust as her eyes flickered open and stared directly into his._

_"No…" she said, the corners of her lips turning up into a little smirk, "But it works for me…"_

* * *

"We were always protected!" Carla cried, her eyes wide with pure horror as he tipped the stick to her angle so that she was able to view the unfortunate results for herself.

"We weren't, though, were we?" Peter grunted, slamming the treacherous stick down onto the coffee table and giving a clearly annoyed sigh, his lips curved downwards into a frown, "There was one time when we were so caught up in the flamin' moment that we gave it the whole 'just this once' crap." Carla paused, releasing a low groan as she suddenly understood his reference.

"That was your fault, you were the one who seduced me."

"This isn't a broken vase, Carla, who kissed who is irrelevant. This is a problem that we've both created ourselves and we've got to work together to sort it out."

"… What do you mean 'sort it out'?"

"You know damn well what I mean. Get rid."

"No…" Carla whispered, her minute voice quivering as a sickening lump formed in her throat. She slowly rose to her feet and backed up, moving away from Peter, who, at that moment, she deemed to be terrifying.

"Carla…" Peter breathed, holding out an open palm, his eyes suddenly filling with sympathy, "I know it's scary, baby, but having a kid would be even scarier…" Carla glanced down at his hand, icily choosing to ignore it.

"I'm not scared," she shot back, giving a little shake of her head in disbelief at his cruel words, "I'm more scared of you than anything else. I don't want it, but I can't get rid of this baby."

"Why not? Thousands of women do it every day, they have done for years…"

"I know. And I was once one of them." Peter's mouth dropped open in shock and his hand fell into his lap. For a few seconds, the silent space between them seemed bigger than ever before. Finally, Peter managed to force out a few logical words.

"… What? Wh..What? You… I don't understand…" Carla sighed, reluctantly returning to her seat beside him as she launched into a shortened explanation.

"I was eighteen. I fell pregnant with Paul's baby, I didn't know what to do, we'd both watched Michelle struggle as a teenage parent and decided it'd be best to have an abortion. I was glad that he was there with me and I could never have done it on my own, but… I've never hated myself so much in my life. Afterwards, I really started to drink heavily; I basically turned into a wild child. I didn't want the adult responsibilities anymore. Peter, I can't go through that again. I'm not exactly a rock of stability at the moment, am I? I don't know whether I can get through any more trauma…" she murmured, swallowing hard as she felt her pretty emerald eyes burning with the tears that had been pent up for many years.

"Okay…" Peter mumbled in immediate response, allowing time for the flood of information to sink in, "Okay… I'm not going to force you to get rid, love. You should know me well enough to know that I'm not that kind of a man, but—"

"I'm not forcing you to be involved, either, consider this your get out of jail free card…"

"Carla, will you let me finish? I'm not that kind of man, but I'm not going to sit here and lie that it's going to be a walk in the park. Morning sickness and weight gain is this easy stuff. Question is, are you ready for that?" he asked, taking both of her hands in his and covering them with his large palms as if they needed a protective coating. She hesitated, biting down on her lower lip to control its nervous tremble.

"No…" she admitted, her voice so meek that it was barely audible to the human ear, "But I don't really have a choice…" In one swift movement, Peter scooped her up onto his knee, cradling her as if she was a small child and rocking her back and forth, comfortingly.

"I love you. I love you so much, Carla Connor. You're a strong, feisty, beautiful woman and I really admire you for that…" he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, "But, my god, are you difficult to live with…"


	4. Lifeless Memory

**I know I was going to make this story from Peter's perspective, but it takes two to make a baby, after all. Sorry it's not overly long, but I hope you enjoy it, anyway. And thanks millions for the reviews! :)**

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It killed her to digest the fact that all that was left of her beloved Liam Connor's memory, all that stood to prove that he had once walked this earth, was a grey slab of granite with his name, date of birth and date of death etched into it, all of which would probably fade over the years and by the time she herself came to be buried six-feet-under, he would be nothing but a lifeless memory or a name on a family tree. Carla sighed, making her cheeks red with the friction of rubbing away the tell-tale tears that she'd regrettably shred as she'd relived their timeless memories. She wished more than anything that Liam could be by her side, supporting her through each and every long, dragging day of her unwanted pregnancy. Though they'd fought like cat and dog during most of their years spent in one another's lives, she'd cared deeper for him more than any other man to ever pass through her car crash of a life. And though she loved her Peter more than words could express, a small fragment of her heart would be buried with Liam's rotting corpse for eternity.

"God, I miss you…" she whispered, shifting from her crouched position and sitting cross-legged on the dry grass beneath her, laying the expensive bouquet of red tulips – much classier than the standard romantic roses – in front of his gravestone. "I wish you were here with me now, Leebugs. So much crap's happening, and I know you'd be damn good at telling me what to do. You always were," she continued, fondly,

"Don't laugh, okay? I'm knocked up. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it's happening. I wish you were around to confide in again, like last time. I'm really scared. There's a little person inside me, Lee, and it's terrifying. And I'm a mess! I mean, I'm constantly wrecked, my relationship's pretty unstable, I'm just about managing to keep the business afloat… I don't know where a kid can fit into that equation. But a part of me can't bear to screw it up again because of what happened to me last time, and I could really do with a cuddle and some semi-decent advice. I know I've got a boyfriend and Michelle and Maria, but none of them knew me like you did. Nobody else knows what makes me tick, how I like things and what I'm really feeling. You could read me like an open book… Liam, why did you have to leave me?" Carla gulped, her eyes flicking to the clear blue sky above, as if waiting for a response from the heavens above. She held back a sob from deep within as her eyes fell to the gravestone once again, filling with fresh tears which threatened to overspill and cascade down her mascara-streaked cheeks. As she stared at the blank, emotionless face of the granite, she froze as she felt a gentle kiss upon the crown of her head, giving a little sigh of relief as she recognised their familiar creases. Peter sat on the grass behind her and positioned his legs either side of her, wrapping his arms adoringly around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

"You don't need him, baby…" he murmured directly into her ear, sending a pleasant shiver throughout her entire body, "You've got me now."

"I know I do, love. I know I do."

"And I want to look after you and make sure that you're happy…" he continued, bringing his hands around to rest against her completely flat stomach, the pad of his thumb circling her navel, "And this little one…"

"Can you believe that in seven months' time, we'll be pushing a pram?" Carla asked, her heart clenching like a fist at the sheer idea of holding her own tiny baby in her arms, "It's madness. Are you sure we can pull this off?" Besides their original conversation, the loved-up pair had barely had a chance to talk about the future, mainly due to the fact that Carla had fled to Liam's graveside at the first opportunity, needing to escape the present for a little while and return to the easiness of the past. Peter nodded slowly, before dropping a featherlight kiss to her bare shoulder.

"It's going to be our flesh and blood. Half you, half me. What could be more perfect than that?" he responded, beginning to scatter her collarbone with swift kisses before moving to press his lips against her neck. Carla drew in a deep breath of the fresh outside air, Peter's actions forming goosebumps over every inch of her skin.

"I do love you, you know? We might row pretty much every day and we've been to hell and back several times between us, but… None of that matters. All that I care about is falling asleep beside you every night and waking up next to you each morning. And yeah, maybe we are going to have to add a baby into the mix, and yeah, that might screw up my work and that, but I don't care, because all I need to get me through the day is you."

"And sex."

"Stop ruining the moment."

"Sorry, beautiful…" Peter grinned, lightly grazing his teeth against her soft skin as he made his way towards her jawline, working his way across it and pressing a final, lingering kiss to her plush lips. "Come on. Come home with me. I can really look after you, and I know the hormones in pregnancy can make you very, very up for it…"

"Yeah… Yeah, okay…" Carla mumbled, allowing Peter to take her hand in his and carefully help her to her feet before entwining their fingers together. She shot a sad, forlorn look over her shoulder at the deserted gravestone, another salty tear trickling down her cheek as she mouthed a fleeting 'I miss you' before following Peter towards the exit of the haunting church.

"I know you miss him, sweetheart…" Peter said, slipping an arm around Carla's shoulders and hugging her close to his strong, comforting chest, "But you've got me, now, and I promise you that I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

"I trust you…" Carla replied, her hand subconsciously falling to her stomach and tenderly stroking over her growing baby within, "I'm just scared. You can understand that, can't you?" Peter stopped her and took her shoulders in his strong hands, angling her body to face him. Slowly, he tilted his head forward and drew in closer until his forehead was lightly resting against hers.

"Baby, of course I understand. If I could change this situation, if I could carry our baby for you, I would. I just want you to know that I'm always going to be here for you…" he murmured in response, gazing lovingly into her eyes for a moment and pecking her lips before taking her hand and continuing on their walk. Carla sighed, fairly content as a bubble of happiness rose inside her. She was well aware that Peter would be there for her every step of the way. Despite his faults, she had a feeling that having a baby of their own might be just what they need to secure their currently rocky relationship.


	5. Dark Circles

**Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, they're much appreciated :). This is for those of you who have been pestering me to update - you know who you are! ;)**

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A month seemed to fly by, during which Carla had managed to push the thoughts of impending motherhood, labour pains and stretch marks to the very back of her mind. That was, of course, unless she was preoccupied by spewing her guts out into one of the Underworld toilets, trying to keep her pain-filled groans to a minimum volume so as not to rouse suspicious. Michelle, however, had been incredibly sharp and observant since a very young age, having been the first of her family - - despite being only six-years-old - to realise that brother Paul's first girlfriend, Tricia, had been sneaking into his bedroom through the window each night. That day, she had followed Carla into the unhygienic toilets and hovered by the door as she listened with sincere concern to the sound of her stomach muscles contracting. As soon as she heard a flush, she slipped into the room and rushed over to Carla, who was sat crossed-legged on the floor, her body trembling and her face a ghostlike white; she had never been one who had dealt easily with sickness.

"Carla!" Michelle exclaimed, crouching beside her weak form and slinging an arm around her shoulders, not caring that she may contract a bug,

"Are you alright?!" Carla shook her head and pushed herself to her feet, not wanting to cause a scene, though was thankful for Michelle's presence as her legs gave way beneath her.

"Steady, steady, I've got you…" Michelle mumbled, carefully guiding her over to the sink, "You shouldn't have come in if you weren't feeling well…"

"I'm fine…" Carla slurred in response. She twisted the knob of the tap and cupped her hands under the cold running water, bringing her hands to her lips and taking a long sip. She sloshed the liquid around in her mouth for a few seconds before spitting it back out again and repeating her actions, this time gulping it down her dry throat instead.

"You don't look fine…"

"Will you please stop flamin' going on?!" she exclaimed, raising her heavy head to glance in the mirror at her pale reflection. She raised a finger and lightly traced the dark circles under her eyes, her panicked thoughts having kept her awake for a majority of the month. Fortunately, she had yet to endure a disgusting outbreak of acne, which she was sure would remind her of her dark teenage years kissing spotty boys down backstreet alleyways even though her flawless skin could have snared her an older man in itself alone. Michelle shot her a sympathetic smile in the mirror, recognising the signs and symptoms from her own pregnancy twenty years prior.

"You're glowing…" she commented, scanning her eyes over the attractive blush that had covered Carla's cheeks. Michelle could see no dark circles nor any other signs of imperfection; she could only see a woman whose beauty had been enhanced, whose skin had taken on a pretty, pure colour, whose eyes displayed a knowing, secretive glint.

"Yeah? Well, I don't feel like it," Carla snapped, wriggling from Michelle's kind grasp and tugging open the door to the workfloor. She stormed past the ogling factory workers, ignoring the furious whispers that followed her and heading straight to her office, Michelle following close on her heels. Leaning on the door to close it behind her, Michelle kinked an eyebrow as Carla grabbed a shiny red apple from her desk drawer and bit into it, giving a little sigh of contentment.

"You're munching on those non-stop as well," Michelle observed, moving towards her and gently prising the apple from her hand replacing it with a steaming mug of tea which she had poured only a matter of minutes ago, "Which could lead to a soaring blood pressure. Not good for a pregnant woman."

"I'm not pregnant."

"Don't lie to me, Carla, I've known you for twenty-odd years and can read you like a picture book. Now, come on, how far gone are you?"

"About ten weeks…" Carla mumbled in response after a brief hesitation, sliding into her office chair and turning to Michelle with guilt-filled eyes,

"I'm sorry I didn't say owt, but… We just need it to sink properly first."

"So Peter knows?"

"Of course he knows. He was the one who realised."

"Well, at least you've not been keeping it all to yourself… God, you with a baby…" Michelle whispered, shaking her head slightly at the sheer idea of her long-term best friend pushing a pram across the cobbles, decked out in her designer dear and six-inch killer heels.

"Yeah, all right, I don't need to be the butt of your jokes as well…" Carla grumbled. Again, Michelle shot her a small smile, holding out a hoping hand and willing her to take it.

"Come on, Mummy, let's take you back to the flat. Mummy, let's take you back to the flat. I'll give Peter a call."

"I don't want to go home. I told you, I'm fine. Other women go through it every day."

"Yes, but 'other women' won't stay here and work themselves stupid, you will. It's not an offer, Connor, it's an order. You either come willingly or be dragged out kicking and screaming, now which is it?" asked Michelle. Carla sighed, before placing her hand in Michelle's and allowing herself to be pulled to her feet and lead home to the awaiting flat.

* * *

Peter stirred the mug of coffee in his hand a few times before knocking the little metal spoon on the side of the china and dropping it into the sink.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to be drinking this?" Carla queried, eyeing the mug suspiciously as it was placed on the coffee table in front of her. She was sprawled out across the sofa, dressed in only a fluffy white dressing gown, the latest edition of 'OK' magazine balancing on her thighs and the television remote by her side.

"You're not supposed to drink _too much _of it. Besides, you've already had to sacrifice your bottle of red for this baby, I'm not a cruel enough man to take away your coffee as well. That and the fact that you're scary without it," Peter teased, crouching beside her and touching the backs of his index and middle fingers to her forehead, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not ill," Carla reminded him, ducking away from his caring touch, "But I feel better now I've told Michelle. You know I don't like keeping things from her. But I'll be alright now, you can go back to work…" Peter shook his head, a little smile of admiration appearing on his lips at the utter strength and determination of his girlfriend.

"You really are a nightmare. I'm going to make us both some sarnies while you return to the glamorous world of Katie Price and her next new husband. What do you want in yours?"

"Apple."

"… You want an apple sandwich?"

"Yes, please. And go easy on the butter. I'm putting on enough weight as it is…" Carla murmurmed, flicking open her magazine to a five-page spread regarding Katie Price and, as predicted, her latest fiancé.

"My beautiful weirdo," Peter grinned, pressing a soft, tender kiss to the crown of her head before getting to his feet and moving through to the kitchen, his expression falling as he dropped his pretence. He had been trying to stay strong for her. He had been trying to act excited about her pregnancy, but he understood the familiar, uncontrollable feeling gradually building up inside him, day by day. He knew that all it would take would be an odd glance in Carla's direction, or a sarcastic jibe from his father, to tip him over the edge and have him falling off the rails once again. He was partly thankful that Blanche wasn't around to comment on the situation – however, he had a feeling that she and Carla would have got on like a house on fire.


	6. Walls Have Ears

**Thank you SO much for your lovely comments, they really make me day! In reply to the suggestion that I update more, I'm afraid that that wont be possible as I currently have three fanfics on the go. In fact, updates may begin to take longer as I'm back at school and started my AS courses today. Sorry!  
I also apologise for any typos in this. My keyboard's broken and it took me ages to type this out! :(**

* * *

Within what seemed like barely any time at all, it was the day of Carla's twelve week scan, and it was an understatement to say that she was stricken with fear. She almost crushed Peter's fingers between her own as she stared at the clock on the waiting room wall, its frustrating ticks drilling into her brain. She felt sick. And this time, it wasn't the vile effects of morning sickness. Whilst the past couple of months had proved a terrible struggle for her, she'd been able to simply pretend that everything was as normal, helped along by the fact that her flat stomach was no larger than usual.. She knew, however, that the appearance of the little alien on the screen would be enough to tip her into a mental breakdown. Peter, too, was terrified about what he was about to witness, though he was trying to remain as strong as physically possible for his girlfriend and unborn child. At the heart-stopping call of her name, Carla rose to her feet and glided through to the treatment room, Peter's fingers laced through hers in a token of unity and affection. She was instructed to clamber up onto the rock solid metal table and lift her baggy top, which Carla proceeded to tuck underneath the underwire of her bra. Thankfully, she had never been a self-conscious woman. The obstetrics nurse squirted a dollop of ice-cold gel onto the centre of her stomach, causing Carla's breath to hitch in her throat, and slowly began to spread it across the entire surface of her stomach. As the nurse turned to the electronic ultrasound device, Peter crouched by Carla's side and hooked his index finger underneath her chin, tilting her to look him in the eye.

"It'll be fine, beautiful," he assured her, earning a grateful smile from the love of his life. Their eyes flicked in unison to the screen beside them as the nurse began to roll the scanner across her stomach and, within seconds, a picture flashed up on the screen, accompanied by a soft heartbeat.

"There you are. A perfectly healthy heartbeat. Congratulations." Peter's worried frown slowly spread into a smile as he stared in fascination at the moving image of Carla's womb, able to make out a head, hands, tummy and tiny little feet despite it's blob-like state. From that moment on, he was able to identify the foetus as his own, as his flesh and blood, as treasured and important to him as Simon was. Carla, on the other hand, still looked like a doe in headlights, even as Peter lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a tender, loving kiss to her knuckle.

"It's beautiful…" he whispered, adoringly. It was clear from Carla's body language, the way that she'd averted her eyes from the screen and swallowed hard at his sweet comment suggested otherwise, and as Peter watched her reaction, he wondered if she would ever be able to adjust to the idea of becoming mum.

* * *

"Daaaad?" Simon asked in a whiney tone as he approached the flat with his father by his side, who was lugging a large overnight bag behind him. Trust Leanne to be too prepared. "Can I watch a DVD when we get back to yours? It's in my bag, I got halfway through it last night before Mum made me turn it off. She can be so _boring_ sometimes…" Peter grinned, though he knew that he shouldn't show his pleasure at Simon's insults of his ex-wife. He adored having his not-so-little boy over for the weekend, and treasured every precious moment that he was able to spend with him, putting aside some father-son time most nights. Tonight, however, was not one of those nights, as Peter was aware that he had other duties to fulfil.

"We'll see, mate, we'll see," he replied, twisting the key in the lock and nudging the door open, allowing Simon to bolt inside and bound up the stairs towards the living room. "Steady on! We're not running the eight hundred meters, Si!" As Simon burst into the living room, he suddenly froze, his eyes falling on Carla, her limp, trembling body spread out across the sofa, an empty bottle of whiskey by her feet and a half-empty one clutched tightly in her fist.

"Dad, she's flamin' drunk again," Simon scoffed, shaking his head in utter disgust as he stormed through to his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Horrified, Peter sped up the stairs two at a time and threw himself to Carla's side, grabbing her hand and tugging her towards him.

"Carla! How much have you had?!" he exclaimed.

"Not as much as it looks. Now stop acting like such a drama queen and get the hell off me," Carla snapped, jerking her arm from his grasp and folding it across her chest.

"Are you off your head or something?! You're having a baby, Carla! And I'm sorry to sound so patronising, but you do realise that pregnant women don't drink, right?!"

"I'm not stupid, Peter, I just… Needed something to take my mind off of it."

"I could have done that for you!"

"I know. I know. But I needed a quick-fix solution and this was it. I'm sorry, Peter, but this is my way of dealing with difficult situations. You know what that feels like better than anyone." Peter sighed heavily, moving to take a seat beside her on the sofa and scooping her up into his lap, wrapping his arms around her body protectively, as if she were a scared child.

"This can't keep happening, okay? You're pregnant. This is happening. And believe me, you'll never, ever forgive yourself if something bad happens to this baby because of your booze problem."

"But I'm not as strong as you…" Carla whispered, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as she felt fresh tears spring to them, "I can't just give up booze. I haven't got the willpower to stay away…"

"Don't be ridiculous, baby. You're ten times stronger than I am. Look how much you managed to survive last year. I'd in awe of you, Carla. You're the strongest woman I've ever met…" Carla smiled faintly, her hands subconsciously falling to her stomach as she tried to digest his words.

"You'll help me, won't you…?" Carla asked, her words no louder than a mumble. Peter nodded, before pressing a swift, lingering kiss to her temple.

"Of course I will. Me and you, we're in this together…" Peter knew that, from then on, he couldn't afford to make a single mistake, for Carla's sake. He had to keep his promise to her, whatever the cost, and being hypocritical and getting hammered himself would not help support the mother of his baby. But little did Peter know that he would have another problem to overcome, a test to see if he was truly tough enough to resist the power of the bottle. As they say, the walls have ears…


	7. Green Eyes

**Sorry I haven't been updating, I've been SO busy changing schools and getting work and being in shows. But here it is - hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

"He's been so detached and rejected ever since he came home from his dad's on Monday afternoon. I'll bet he's been ignoring him in favour of a quick snog with his little lapdog. I don't know what to do, Ken, he won't open up..." Leanne sighed, taking a long sip of her tea, black with no sugar, and looking her former father-in-law directly in the eye, pleading with him for his vast knowledge. Ken gave a low hum as he clasped his hands in front of his round, plump stomach, kept warm by a burgundy woollen jumper. His eyes darted around his fairly old-fashioned living room, the shelves adorned with little silver cases which framed dozens of tiny memories, photographs for the world to see. On the doorway to the kitchen was an array of lines, each in different colours and at various heights. Ken smiled, fondly, as he recalled his son and daughter's lifelong battle of height – they'd lived with their grandparents in the outskirts of Glasgow from the tender age of four but, whenever they had visited, Ken had made sure to record their heights on the doorframe, each twin taking his or her turn to overtake the other every few months.

"Why don't I have a word with him? If it's something to do with Peter, he might be wary of telling you..." Ken suggested, thoughtfully. Leanne nodded,

"Yeah," she agreed, shooting him a grateful smile before scraping back the dining room chair that she was sat upon and moving to the bottom of the staircase. At the shrill calling of Simon's name, Deirdre swooped in from the kitchen and took a seat at the kitchen table opposite her husband, despite his protests that Simon would feel overcrowded. If there was gossip to be heard, she didn't want to be the last to hear it. Moments later, they heard the violent crashing of Simon's footsteps down the stairs and, as he burst into the room with a much angrier expression than usual, it was clear that something was very, very wrong.

"What?" Simon grumbled, sliding into Leanne's empty seat and huffily folding his arms across the table.

"Simon, love, don't snap..." Leanne replied, soothingly placing her hands on his shoulders, only for them to be shrugged off again.

"We only want to help you..." came Ken's wise words, his aged face etched with concern. Simon's frown only worsened.

"No..." he mumbled, his head slowly shaking from side to side, "No, I can't tell you, I'm not allowed... It's a secret..."

"Darling..." Leanne sighed, crouching beside his chair and placing one manicured hand on his knee, reassuringly, "It doesn't have to be a secret because, if it's upsetting you, it's okay to tell. Has it... Has it got something to do with your dad?" Simon hesitated for a moment before nodding, trying to shed any ounces of guilt that he felt. He knew that he couldn't carry this burden any longer. "Si, come on. You can tell us..."

"Dad and Carla-..." he took a deep breath, one little thumb twiddling over the other, "Dad and Carla... They're having a baby..." Silence. The atmosphere could have been sliced with the butter knife clutched tightly in Deirdre's hand.

"... What?" Leanne whispered, her breath hitching in her throat as her heart seemed to stop beating at the terrifying words that she had just heard uttered. That Peter Barlow, the man whom she would continue to love into her years of old age, was having a baby with another woman. Another woman who wasn't her. And despite their marital difficulties, she wished more than anything that she could have been in Carla's position.

"Dad and Carla. They're having a baby. I heard them talking and, and he's not going to want me any more..."

"Don't be daft," she said, pursing her lips, "I'll be back in a bit, Si. I think me and your dad need to have a little chat."

* * *

Drunk or not, the cheerful sounds of laughter and the latest music pumping softly in the background was a home comfort to Peter, as was the friendly, beaming face of Sean Tully, eager to serve his admired boss. Peter studied Carla as she lifted her glass of apple juice to her lips and took a long sip, pleased to see that she was sticking to her oath of sobriety. It had been well over forty-eight hours since her plump lips had come into contact with the delicious taste of ethanol, and she had been rewarded by another oral addiction of hers. He was proud of her, and couldn't stop his eyes from flicking down to her stomach every now and again before meeting hers. That all changed, however, when the fair, slim build of his precious ex-wife flew into the room and launched into a tyrant of all-so-familiar insults.

"What the hell are you, Peter, some kind of flamin' idiot?! Do you not realise how much your silly little secret has been affecting your son?! You know, small, dark, curly hair, about this high? Remember him? Or has he slipped your memory all of a sudden?" Leanne seethed, not knowing not caring that a majority of the bustling pub were straining to hear her words, "Were you drunk, then? You know, when you knocked up your home-wrecking tart? Wouldn't surprise me."

"Er, home-wrecking? Listen carefully, Leanne – can you hear the pitter-patter of tiny little black pots and kettles scurrying this way?" Carla retorted, clearly referring to Leanne's days spent on the game.

"I'll pitter-patter you in a minute," Leanne snapped, preventing from lunging forwards as her mother, Stella, grabbed her shoulder.

"What the hell is going on in here?!" Stella demanded. For the first time, the feuding threesome were able to hear the eerie silence of the room; each and every eye in the room was upon them. Clearly is throat, Peter stepped out from behind his livid ex and addressed the regulars.

"So, it wasn't really meant to come out this way, but as I'm sure you just heard... Carla and I are going to be having a new addition to our family. She's due in six months—"

"Praise the flamin' Lord. She'll be on maternity leave and we won't have to see her for months!" Beth Tinker muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"And, despite our problems, we want to give this baby everything we can. Now, we expect you all to be a little shocked—"

"You'll be shocked when the little mite sprouts horns and a tail..." Beth continued, quietly, earning a snort from Izzy, who was sat beside her.

"But this is happening, whether you like it or not... Thanks," Peter finished on a mumble, taking Carla's hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. Instead of turning to him, however, Carla's green eyes met and locked with Leanne's of a similar colour; green, the monster of jealousy.


	8. Tiny Bump

**Lots of love for the reviewers - this one's for you! :)**  
**Enjoy!**

* * *

"I can't believe it had to come out like that..." Carla sighed, swinging her arm back and forth, linked with Peter's, as the pair walked side-by-side along the cobbled street in the dusk, the atmosphere romantic and warming her heart despite the vicious looks that they'd received since Leanne's rude arrival.

"Well, I suppose it's better than having the gossips twittering about the ifs and maybes behind our backs," Peter replied, giving her hand a gentle squeezed as they came to a halt outside the front door of his dad's house. He took her other hand in his and laced their fingers together, causing a little smile of intimacy to spread across her flawless face. "God, Carla, you're so beautiful..."

"Oh, shut up, Barlow..." Carla mumbled, averting her eyes to the ground beneath their feet as her cheeks flushed a light, pretty shade of crimson. In response, he slipped his index finger underneath her chin and tilted her to look into his eyes once again.

"I mean it, baby. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen..." Peter whispered, catching her lips in a soft, tender kiss. His hand travelled across to rest her stomach, which was expanding slightly by the day, "And if this little thing looks anything like Mummy, it's going to have the boys or girls falling at its feet..." Carla smiled, her eyes following his hand movements, ever aware of the presence of their little baby inside her womb.

"Er, are you kidding me? It isn't getting a boyfriend until it's at least thirty-two," she replied, tilting her head towards the front door, "I think we need to get in there and speak to the big brother. God knows what he's going through. If we found it difficult to adjust, think what it's like for a nine-year-old lad..."

"I'll make a mother out of you yet," Peter grinned, pressing a swift kiss to her forehead before letting himself into his dad's house. Doors were always open on Coronation Street.

"Dad? It's only us," Peter called, carefully guiding the door closed behind them with his foot before leading Carla through to the living room, where Simon and Ken were sat at the dining table, one of Simon's many board games spread out across the table. Deirdre was hovering around the kitchen once again, making cups of tea and desserts of angel delight and ice cream. At the intrusion, all three stopped stock still and turned to Carla and Peter, Simon's dark eyes narrowing at the sight of his lying father.

"I suppose I should say congratulations," Ken mumbled, his head shaking slightly in disapproval,

"Though I think it'd be out of context, given the circumstances." He didn't dislike Carla, he thought that she was a perfectly acceptable young woman who'd had a tough year and was vulnerable. He was proud that Peter had taken the job of looking after her so brilliantly. He disapproved, however, of what they'd done to Leanne and, more importantly, how they'd ruined Simon's life without so much as a second thought. Peter displayed the palms of his hands in a surrendering motion.

"We were going to tell you later this week, when we'd had time to take it all in ourselves. But all's healthy and it's beautiful," Peter informed his father, quickly hunting through his wallet and sliding a little brown and white photograph out of the transparent cover, placing it down on the dining table. Ken peered at it for a second, observing the details of the foetus's tiny little feet and alien-like structure.

"Very nice," he replied, pushing the photograph towards Simon. Simon, however, turned away, not wanting anything to do with his unborn brother or sister whatsoever.

"It's ugly," he snapped, his arms angrily folding across his chest, "It looks like Carla."

"Simon!" Peter scolded, protectively slipping his arm around Carla's waist and holding her close to his chest, "Apologise to Carla right this instant."

"Peter, it's fine-..."

"No, Carla, it's not fine! When that baby's born, do you really want it to be copying things like that?! Because it will. It'll look up to Simon."

"That's all you care about, isn't it? It's all about your stupid flamin' baby," Simon grumbled, pressing his lips together in a stubborn pout. Peter sighed, moving to crouch beside Simon's chair and attempting to make eye contact with Simon from his new angle, but to no avail.

"Si, that's daft. You know you're the most important person here. This baby, it's not going to be any more special to me. It's your brother or sister, not the competition..." Peter murmured, his voice altering and becoming soft and reassuring. Simon lifted his head ever-so-slightly, revealing red, blotchy, tear-filled eyes. His high voice trembled with his next words.

"I'm not important any more. Not since you and her. I'm always at Grandad's or with my mum, and when I am home, I'm always in the way. And the new baby's going to replace me, and you won't be like my dad anymore..."

"Mate, no. No, come on. I love you, you know I do. And I won't love this baby any more than that, either. When it's born, I'll make sure there's still some time for me and you every day, okay? Even if it's just going for a kick-about on the way home from school, the baby can be with Carla and it'll just be me and my boy..." Peter assured him, a lump forming in his own throat at the release of Simon's pent-up emotions. He couldn't blame him for being so terrified of losing his dad, having lost his biological mother at such a young age.

"Promise...?" Simon sniffed, rubbing his eyes with the sides of his hand and holding the other out, his little finger outstretched. Peter nodded, linking his own little finger around his son's and shaking them, a 'pinkie promise' never to be broken.

"Promise..." He shot a glance over his shoulder to his girlfriend, who was biting down hard on her trembling lip, and flashed her a warm, loving smile. He hoped that everything would be okay from that moment on, and that, with Simon's approval, they would be able to become a proper little family.

* * *

That night, Peter was sprawled across the sofa, having already tucked Simon into bed and kissed him goodnight, Carla's head resting against his chest and their limbs entangled with each other's. They felt so comfortable in each other's arms, as if the situation was right; they fit together like lock and key. Peter's warm hand stroked up and down Carla's bare stomach, which was exposed as her top was askew.

"It's getting bigger..." he mumbled beside her ear, pressing a soft kiss to her temple and beginning to move his hand in circular movements. Carla smiled in agreement, shifting to a seated position so that she could admire her stomach herself.

"It is..." she replied, contentedly. Peter leant forwards so that his lips were only inches away from her skin, his breath causing her little blonde hairs to stand on end.

"You're going to be so beautiful or handsome. And me and Mummy and Nanny and Grandad and Simon are going to love you to pieces..." he spoke softly, before allowing his lips to brush against her tiny bump. Carla felt as though her heart were about to explode with happiness. Though they were experiencing mixed emotions about the entire process, both Carla and Peter knew that they would be able to overcome their faults and keep both of their children as happy as possible. All would be well in the end.


	9. Blood On Her Hands

**Sorry for the lateness - it's not my best, and it's ANOTHER cliffhanger, but I hope it's acceptable all the same :D  
****I love the reviewers very much - thank you.**

* * *

Another month. Carla's stomach had grown dramatically, and was now very noticeable, only able to be concealed underneath extremely baggy clothing. Her bump was adorably round and fairly pert, and was now the one part of her perfect body that Peter struggled to tear his eyes from. He was astounded that his flesh and blood was inside her; though he was not a first-time father, it was the first time that he had been in a serious, fully committed relationship with the mother of his child. And right at that moment in time, he was more in love with her than he had ever been before. He sighed contentedly, his fingertip lightly tracing over the edges of the photo of Carla's stomach, which was lighting up the screen of his iPhone and distracting him from the mundane day-to-day business of the bookies. Guns shot, horses' hooves pounded across the floor and crowds cried at the top of their lungs, gamblers groaned in annoyance and cheered with delight at the results on the screen, but still, Peter only had one focus. She was beautiful. His eyes rolled up in surprise as he felt a dark shadow looming over him to find his father, Ken, peering at the screen. Ken smiled, knowingly. He had been in this position himself, though at half the age of his eldest son.

"She's looking radiant..." he commented, knowing that his compliments would warm Peter's heart with adoration,

"How far gone is she now?"

"Four and a half months."

"I see. And when is she due?"

"April 20th," Peter replied, his chest swelling with pride.

"Near to your birthday, then."

"Yeah, we'll have a little connection, me and it... I'm a bit sick of calling it 'it'. We can find out the gender in two weeks. Carla pretends she doesn't mind, but I know she's secretly dying for a little girl..." he continued, his heart giving a little flutter of excitement at the idea of a tiny, raven-haired girl the spitting image of Carla toddling around, carrying her mother's Louis Vuitton handbag in one hand and the arm of a baby doll in the other. The idea of a new baby had started to grow on him. He'd missed the first four years of Simon's life, and he felt as though he was being given a second chance to experience sleepless nights and toddler temper tantrums.

* * *

"Ooh, you're being spoilt rotten already," Carla murmured, her hand resuming its usual resting spot on the curve of her stomach, her other hand struggling under the weight of several baby boutique carrier bags, plus some containing maternity wear from all of the best high street designer stores. Peter had provided Carla with unlimited usage of his credit card, which she had naturally made the most of as well as contributing her own money to the baby fund. She'd picked up a wide range of baby-grows, nightclothes, hats and little boots in a variety of shades of cream, white, yellow, green and purple. Though the gender of her child was playing heavily on her mind twenty-four hours of each day, the fact that there were more neutral colours than those that were gender-specific was making her shopping sprees all the more exciting. So exciting, in fact, that she could practically feel the movements of her baby, which were causing a great amount of discomfort in her abdomeninal area. She carefully slipped her phone from leant her back against the wall as she speedily dialled Peter's number and pressed the device to her ear. The sharp ringing tone pieced her eardrum for merely a few seconds before it was interrupted by a crackling sound and, before long, the soothing tone of Peter's voice.

"Hey, baby..." he murmured, able to smile once again at the contact with his girlfriend, "Bled me dry, I assume?"

"Not at all," Carla responded, her words laced with a hint of mischief, "Well... I might have come close. But, on the plus side, baby's got a lot of lovely new clothes, as has Mummy... It's very excited... Too excited..." She gave a low groan as she felt an ache deep in the pits of her stomach once again, this time a lot sharped. Back in Weatherfield, Peter's eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Carla? Car, what's wrong?" he asked. Carla didn't answer him for a moment, the sudden, intense pain leaving her breathless and struggling to speak. She dropped her numerous shopping bags to the floor and staggered over to the bench beside the fountain in the centre of the room.

"I... My belly hurts..." she moaned, placing her hand to her stomach as, once again, the searing pain kicked in,

"Peter, I don't know what to do..."

"Er... Okay, er... What does it feel like?" Peter questioned, panic rising in his voice as he quickly mumbled for his dad to phone for an ambulance under his breath. Though he was unaware of just how difficult Carla's situation was, he didn't want to take any chances.

"What do you think it feels like?! It hurts!" Carla snapped. Her body fell numb, sick with worry, as she suddenly felt a rush of what appeared to be a liquidated substance gush from her lower body. Consciously, she ran her hand down from her stomach to the crotch of her skirt before slowly lowering it once again. Her heart sunk in despair. Her skin was stained with the deep reds of blood.

"Peter..." she mumbled, meekly, her hand trembling under her stare, "I'm bleeding..." There was a horrified silence on the other end of the phone. "Peter!"

"Okay! Okay... Baby, an ambulance is on its way. I'm sure everything's fine, but it's a lot better to be on the safe side. I'll be waiting for you at the hospital... I love you, princess. Stay strong for me and for our little boy or girl."

"I love you too..." Carla whispered, pressing down firmly on the button of her phone with her index finger just in time, before it toppled to the floor and landed at her feet. As her eyes ran over the blood on her hands, the way that it pooled at the creases and seemed to embed itself in her skin, a tear slipped from them and landed at the centre of her palm, causing a spot of blood to dissolve. For the second time during her eventful pregnancy, she was playing a waiting game.

* * *

The white-washed walls were a blur of gowns, bodies and beeping machinery as his rhythmic footsteps took him through the door of the gynaecology department of Weatherfield General Hospital. The sounds of people muttering to their families and the shouts of doctor's across the room were faint, as if they were occuring miles away. The only words audible to Peter were those in which he'd only heard in his most terrifying nightmares:

"Carla Connor, aged thirty-seven, eighteen weeks pregnant, vaginal bleeding and chronic abdominal pain." Though his vision failed him, he hunted around for Carla's familiar hand as he quickened his pace to keep up with the movement of her hospital bed, her sobs penetrating his shell of personal turmoil and bringing him back to reality.

"Peter, what if it's something we've done?!" she asked, her voice trembling and causing his heart to break into thousands of tiny pieces.

"You've done absolutely nothing wrong. I promise. Everything's going to be okay..." he assured her. He knew that his words were filled with doubt; at the expressions of concern plastered across the doctor's face, he struggled to find belief in them himself.


	10. Heartbreaker

**Every story has its 'dip' chapter. I have a feeling that this is it. This may change at a later date, but I wanted to get an update to you tonight because, as I'm in constant shows until the 29th, I don't know when the next update will be :/. Moreso than ever, opinions will be GREATLY appreciated. Thank you:)**

* * *

Peter ran his fingers through Carla's glossy, raven hair, twisting his index finger around a single lock before allowing it to drop to her shoulder. His other hand trailed up and down her arm; from her elbow to the top of her tricep and back again. He couldn't string together any words which would fit the horrific situation that they had found themselves in. Likewise, Carla struggled to make any sound other than a little whimper or cry for the fear of the unknown. After months of difficulties coming to terms with the pregnancy, the possibility of losing the baby had shattered the fairytale world that they had tried to create.

"I'm so scared…" Carla whispered, honestly, her head dropping to one side and resting lovingly against Peter's shoulder, "What if it's gone? What if… Peter, what if it's because I've been boozing…?"

"Don't be daft, Car. I'm sure it'll all be okay…"

"You don't know that."

"Carla! Relax, okay?" Peter sighed in reply, turning and cupping her cheeks in his hands so that he was able to stare earnestly into her pretty, sad eyes, "It'll be fine. Whatever it is, we'll get through it together. I promise you…" As the corners of Carla's lips twitched in a half-hearted smile, her body gave a little jolt of shock when the curtains surrounding her hospital bed were tugged open and a relatively young, attractive doctor slipped inside.

"Mrs Connor?" he asked, his eyes scanning over the set of notes in front of him. Carla nodded and tightened her grip on Peter's hand. In response, he bent his head and pressed a tender kiss against her knucklebone, trying to encourage her to relax.

"Yeah, and I'm her partner. The baby's father," Peter explained, though his voice cracked at the mention of his child-to-be.

"Mrs Connor, I'm going to have to ask you a few questions. They're going to be personal and very intruding, but they're essential if we're going to find out the cause of the bleeding."

"Go ahead…"

"Have you frequently engaged in sexual intercourse since discovering that you were pregnant."

"Yes."

"Recently?"

"Yes."

"How recently?"

"… Last night," Carla mumbled, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She was a grown woman and she knew that such matters shouldn't bother her, but it seemed that the way in which she and Peter had found each other had made sex a private matter and something that they did not discuss with the outside world. The doctor nodded, scribbling a few messy notes on the piece of paper in front of him.

"I see. And was there any bleeding before, during or after the intercourse?"

"Nope. None at all." There was a long, tense pause as cogs turned inside the doctor's brain, trying to piece together the illegible puzzle that was their situation.

"Well, by your notes and what you've said, it looks as though you've suffered something called cervical ectropion.

"What? Is it serious? Is the baby okay?"

"Look, I can't be sure until you've had a scan. But, if I'm right, the baby is absolutely fine. Sometimes, the cells in the cervix change during pregnancy and make it more likely to bleed, particularly after sex. So all it'll mean is putting away the handcuffs and any sharp objects until after the baby is born…" Carla and Peter let out a breath of relief in unison, and Peter pressed a thankful kiss to the crown of her head. As far as he was concerned, the blind panic was over.

* * *

"Peter, stop fussing," Carla grumbled, shifting her position on the sofa and cuddling her hot water body even closer to her stomach. She was wrapped in a duvet cover and dressed in her pyjamas, which were loose against her constantly expanding bump. It was a huge understatement to say that Peter had been spoiling his girl rotten since they'd returned from the hospital with the joyful news that their little bundle of cells was in perfect condition.

"Sorry. I can't help worrying about you…" Peter admitted, perching on the arm of the sofa and resting his arm across the back of the sofa, watching her from above. Carla had been supplied with several boxes of chocolate, mugs of tea and enough glossy magazines to last her a week, plus constant cuddles and kisses from her one and only. The curtains were drawn, the lights had been dimmed and the opening titles of 'Notting Hill' were humming quietly from the TV set, despite Peter's insistence that a soppy love story wasn't going to cheer her up.

"Well, stop it. I'm fine. I need you to grow a pair, not play the nurse."

"Oh, don't you worry, darling, I'll be saving all of the doctors and nurses malarkey for when you're feeling better…"

"You're such a tease," Carla replied, rolling her eyes as he shot her a smirk and slid down to sit beside her on the sofa, coaxing her head back to rest against his stomach. As her eyelids fluttered closed, he allowed his soft fingertips to trace lightly across the details of her face, identifying the barely existent creases in her forehead, the smoothness of her cheeks and, finally, the familiarity of her lips. Slowly, he tilted his body and pressed a kiss to the very tip of her nose, causing her to crinkle it.

"You're a right sop, you," she grinned, wriggling her head so that she was nestled into the very centre of his lap, his breath hitching at her close proximity, at the idea that a year ago, the sheer thought of this compromising position would have created a pang of guilt, "I like this. It makes me feel as though I have power over you.

"You've always had power over me," Peter reminded her, "Why do you think we're together now? Because you made it too damn difficult for me to resist you, with that way you used to sashay past and flutter your eyelashes whenever you spoke to me."

"I did no such thing."

"Yes, you did. I felt like a twelve-year-old schoolboy talking to his pretty teacher all over again. Problem is, if that little tadpole turns out to be a girl and she's inherited your persuasive techniques, I'm in for hell." Carla gave a little snort, her hand subconsciously circling her stomach, wondering if her baby was aware that she was being loved and spoken about.

"What do you mean 'if'? Even if it's a boy, it'll be a little heartbreaker. With me and you as Mummy and Daddy? Flamin' hell. The rest of Weatherfield don't stand a chance…"


	11. Perfect

**Sorry for the shortness and any typos/any general crapness. I haven't got time to proof-read it or anything and I wanted to get this out tonight because it's been AGES. So yeah, please review and let me know if it's okay :D.**  
**Love you guys!**

* * *

Carla was used to the shocking-yet-pleasant sensation of ice cold gel against her petite bump by the time her twenty-week scan was upon her. She waited with bated breath, squeezing Peter's hand dead with all her might and curling her toes to prevent a surprised speak escaping her bare lips. Peter shot her a knowing smile in response, watching in fascination as the clear gel was spread just above the waistband of his girlfriend's leggings, across her sharp hipbones, along her dipped-in waist and around her stomach once again. Once the coverage was complete, the sonographer curled her fingers around the handle of the scanner before gently pressing it against Carla's bump and beginning to move it around in slow circles, watching the screen intently until a defined image popped up. Peter froze, mesmerised. His tiny baby was now much bigger, much clearer. He could make out the shape of its head, its body, and even its miniature feel as the soft beating of its heartbeat lovingly filled his ear. Without watching, Peter lifted Carla's hand and pressed a tender kiss against the back of it.

"Would you like to know the sex?" the sonographer asked. Instantly, Carla and Peter's eyes met, each providing the other with a silent approval. Carla nodded.

"Yes please…" she murmured, her breath catching with excitement in her throat as they both waited in anticipation. There was a moment of silence as the sonographer narrowed her eyes at the image and listened carefully to the heartbeat, before a broad smile spread across her lips.

"It's a girl." A sharp gasp erupted from Carla's chest as an almost unbearable happiness exploded inside her, mirroring the external reaction of Peter, who had begun to press a wave of kisses against her knucklebone.

"Oh, sweetheart…" he murmured, snaking an arm around her shoulder and holding her close to his chest, perching carefully on the edge of the bed, "A girl…"

"I knew it…" Carla whispered, more to herself than anybody else, her hand drifting to the very top of her stomach as she shared a private moment with her daughter, "I knew all along. I could feel it…" Her mind filled with a vivid slideshow of the future: holding her little girl's hand as she took her first steps; dressing her in adorable pink dresses and little denim jackets; her first day at school in a pretty chequered summer dress, her hair in identical plaits on either side of her beautiful face. In a matter of months, she'd turned from a child-hater into a real mother, and she hoped more than anything that Peter felt the same. It was clear from his delighted expression that the thought of a daughter to complete his set, to give him the perfect pair of children, had given him a reason to keep away from alcohol for the rest of his life. A reason to live.

* * *

Carla's fingers were ablaze as she frantically tapped away at the keyboard of her laptop, her eyes scanning over the soft pastel colours and nursery-like designs of the website that lit the screen and the faces of she and Peter, who she was laying against on the sofa much later that evening. His legs were wrapped protectively around her, his chin resting against her shoulder as he too observed the images on the screen, though not as excitedly. He gave a little cough of surprise and his eyes grew wide as he noticed the bold price of the pink ruffled dress that Carla's mouse was hovering over. Way more money than he could scrape together.

"Carla, no."

"Why not?!"

"We can't pay that for one dress!"

"Don't you want her to look nice?"

"Nice, yeah. Like a Barbie doll? Not really. Besides, look, there are plenty of other nice, cheaper dresses on here. Remember, we've got to buy a cot and paint and decorations for a nursery yet. And we've got to look at house prices because we both know deep down that this flat isn't big enough for the three of us, let alone four. We'll have to leave. I mean, there are only two bedrooms, and neither Simon nor the baby are sleeping in the living room, so we've got to save every penny we've got."

"I know, I know. It's just been so long since I lived in a proper house. I don't know how I'll feel about selling the flat, either…" Carla mumbled, somewhat choked over the prospect of losing the flat that had once belonged to her adored husband, Paul. Despite the horrific memories that her 'home' space brought with it, such as Frank's reign of terror over a year before, she'd spent some of the happiest times of her life curled up next to Paul or, merely a year later, his little brother Liam. The Connor brothers had left a permanent hole in her broken heart.

"Sweetheart, I get that it's hard. It'll be hard for me, too, I'm used to living only steps away from Simon. But if he's going to keep staying over, it's just one of those things that we have to do…" Peter replied, lightly pecking her cheek and giving her a comforting squeeze as he stretched his arms and placed a hand over hers, guiding her nimble fingers to the address bar and instead searching for houses for sale in Manchester. Together, they scrolled down the page until they found a stunning four-bedroom house only minutes away from Weatherfield, with a generous garden and spacious. Wordlessly, Peter raised an eyebrow, and Carla gave a nod of agreement.

"Yeah. I think so, too…" she said, scanning over the details, which featured a friendly neighbourhood and a front door which opened onto a quiet street rather than a busy main road. A house which, at first glance, appeared to be perfect for bringing up two young children. Obviously, they would need to hunt around for some more information, but the price was well within their reach and seemed to be a bargain for what was offered.

"Well…?" Peter asked, his finger hovering over the button which would direct them to a page of contact details for the estate agency in charge.

"Well…?" Carla echoed, chewing lightly on her lower lip as she waited to hear his opinion.

"I like it."

"So do I."

"I mean, look at the size of the garden. Simon would love it, he's never had a garden before. And can you picture the baby sitting with her dolls and an ice cream on the patio, or us, relaxing while the kids are with my dad and Deirdre? It's perfect."

"I know."

"… Do you think we should ring up and ask to go to a viewing?"

"I think you must have read my mind, Barlow…"


	12. Coffee Cup

**This hasn't been proof-read yet, so I hope it's okay! I babble at times - sorry... .**

* * *

Even the mere scent of rich, luxury coffee from the little café down the road, which was far more upmarket than regular old Roy's Rolls, sent Carla's senses into oblivion. Her eyes brightened with glee; her nose twitched with longing and familiarity; her tastebuds tingled with desire – it was a necessity that she had been deprived of for too long. She sighed, pressing her back against the cold brick wall of the outside of the bookies, bending one knee and resting her foot flat against the surface behind her. She was waiting for Peter. Her Peter. He was inside, nattering away to his dad about something or another. She didn't want to intrude. She didn't yet feel like a stable enough member of the Peter's clan to pry in on family discussions, despite the Barlow blood coursing through the veins of the little person inside her. Once the baby had been born, she hoped that she'd finally be accepted and that people would realise that the relationship was the real thing. Carla watched through the window as Peter chuckled at Ken's comment, his eyes flicking to the television screen and back again, clearly enjoying the race that was taking place. Her lips tweaked up into a knowing little smile, his happiness filling her with joy. It made a change to see him laughing. The last few months had been tedious, a living hell. Carla could never repay him for the sacrifice he'd made. He'd given up his only child, his son, to live happily ever after with his new lover. And what had he been given in return? An arrogant alcoholic with the sensitivity of a spoon and the maternal nature to match. And together, they were going to raise a child. The whole idea sounded like a disaster in the making. A shiver overcame Carla as her eyes met Peter's soft brown ones, and he made a feeble excuse to Ken before stepping out from behind the counter. Within seconds, he was outside the shop and by Carla's side, not uttering a word and instead flattening his back next to hers, his position perfectly mirroring hers. He eyed her coffee cup with distaste, clearly very disappointed in his beloved other half.

"You're not supposed to be having that," he reminded her, his head nodding in the cup's direction. Carla shrugged.

"One time won't hurt."

"I hope you don't take the same approach to one-night stands as you do your coffee."

"Haha. You're so hilarious, I can't breathe…" Carla grumbled, lifting the warm cup to her lips. Just as the first drop of the delicious liquid touched the tip of her tongue, she felt Peter's hand close around the cup and yank it from her loose grasp. "Hey!"

"What?"

"Give it back, you bastard."

"Er, manners…" Peter teased, raising the cup slightly above her reachable range, causing a groan of despair to cross Carla's parted lips.

"I hate you, you're a tool, now give," Carla snapped, her bright eyes narrowing into vicious little slits of irritation. Knowing the signs, Peter lowered the coffee once again and placed it into her awaiting hands.

"Happy?"

"Very." Carla smiled to herself, triumphantly, as she took a sip of coffee, sighing cheerily as it warmed and soothed her dry throat. The pair stood in silence as Carla drank and Peter stared out into the distance. Eventually, Peter resisted temptation and drew a cigarette from his jacket pocket, lighting it up once it was securely between his teeth. Carla crinkled her nose in disgust at the bitter, smoke-filled waft.

"Urgh. I don't know why you do it," she commented.

"I don't know why you like those soppy romcom films, either, but I don't pester you about them," Peter retorted, breathing a puff of smoke out into the cold air surrounding them.

"They're different. They don't give you lung cancer."

"No, but they give you nausea."

"You won't be smoking around the baby, that's for sure. She won't be anywhere near you."

"Obviously. I don't smoke around our Si, either. In fact… I shouldn't be smoking around you," Peter replied, flicking his quarter-used cigarette to the floor and stomping on it with the toe of his shoe before moving to be beside his love once again, this time snaking his arms around her waist and guiding her arms to wrap around his next, her bump brushing against his stomach.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Three months…" Carla murmured, her dark eyelashes brushing her high cheekbones as she glanced down at her ever-growing bump, her body shivering in excitement at the knowledge of what was to come. Peter simply nodded. He may have been counting down the weeks until their lives changed forever, but he was also aware of the realities of children. He knew that it could be an uphill battle for the next eighteen years and the thought made him somewhat nervous.

"I know. I'm terrified…" he mumbled, his breath catching in his throat as he felt a gentle kick at his hand, which had come to rest at the side of her stomach. This wasn't the first time he'd felt his little one's happiness at his presence. It was often during bedtime cuddles that he and Carla shared that their daughter would be wide awake; the perfect example of a tiny night-owl.

"Yeah, so am I. I mean… I'm going to have to give birth. And that's only the start of it. From then on, it's sleepless nights and constant rows, crying, screaming, temper tantrums… And that's just you and me. Then there's Simon, still hating me, probably hating his sister, too, and I'll be back at work within six weeks. I'll probably have to lug her around with me in a carrier cot or something, I don't know. I can't afford a lot of time off."

"I know, love, I know. I'll help out as much as I can, but we're going to need the money from the shop, too. We need cots, prams, clothes, toys, the lot. Babies are expensive. And I can't neglect Simon, either, or you. So I can't really afford the time off, either. We need every single penny the two of us can scrape together, especially if you're serious about us buying that house down the road…"

"Oh, I am. It was perfect, Peter."

"It needs to be for my perfect son, perfect daughter and perfect girlfriend…" Peter whispered, tilting his head and touching a featherlight kiss to her lips. When he was with her, his doubts faded. She made him feel as though everything was going to run smoothly.


	13. Useless

**I'm back off holiday! This chapter is a lot of little paragraphs, because I wanted to show multiple points of view and skip time without saying 'five hours later' and that kind of thing. Thank you for the reviews, I love you! Hope you enjoy it :).  
Sorry if the first bit is a bit out of character! And I didn't include the big make-up because I'm doing it separately. :)**

* * *

The baby was like a ticking time-bomb. Every second, the due date loomed ever closer; every second, Peter realised that he was becoming less and less prepared for another child. He knew that once they had a new arrival, he wouldn't be able to cope any longer, and the thought of losing control terrified him. So much so, in fact, that by that evening, he'd stacked up several empty bottles of gin on the floor beside the sofa, having worked his way through each and every last drop and having the scarlet, blotchy eyes and the slurred speech to prove it. When Carla had returned home from that evening suffering a terrible bad back due to her seven-month bump and expecting a bath and a massage from the one she loved, it was an understatement to say that she'd been livid to find the flat looking like a pub at the end of a busy evening.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at, Peter?!" she'd cried, her green eyes filled with fury as she grabbed the empty bottles by the necks and launching them into the kitchen sink, "You're meant to be over this!"

"Sorry…" Peter mumbled, dipping his head and staring at his socks instead of into her eyes.

"Are you going to be like this when the baby's born, eh? Drinking at every opportunity? What about when she's walking and if she finds a bottle of gin and gets into it? Drinks it?! I've stopped. You promised me you would, too."

"It's not that simple."

"You're telling me?! I had no choice! Yeah, there were a few stumbles, but I had to get myself back on track in the end. You're selfish—"

"That's rich!" Peter snorted, mirroring her venomous expression with an identical one of his own as he leapt to his feet and stormed in the direction of the front door, stopping only to tug his jacket from the coatrack and sling it over his shoulder in case he needed it later. He could hear Carla piteously calling his name, but he ignored her in fury, slamming the door behind him as he left, causing the walls of the flat to tremble in distress. He'd had enough of the rows. They'd become more and more intense as of late, and he needed a night out where he could choose to either think things through or drink his problems away.

* * *

In his drunken haze, the heavy bass beats in the club hammered through Peter's skull, filling his mind with useless lyrics and audible patterns. The colours flashed endlessly; pink, blue, red, green and yellow, lighting up his eyes and changing the skintones of each and every person in the club, making them practically unrecognisable, which was perfectly fine by Peter. In the state that he was in, anonymity was exactly what he needed. However, it seemed that that was all about to change. Though his head was swirling in spiral patterns, turning other partygoers into blurs, he couldn't fail to recognise the petite blonde strutting her way in his direction, a giggle passing her pouted lips as she flicked her long, perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. Her smile was flawless. In his normal situation, her beauty wouldn't come anywhere close to that of his one true love at home, but when he couldn't think straight, comparing Carla to his ex-girlfriend standing in front of him was the absolute last thing on his mind.

"Alright, Sam?" he asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Samantha James, a woman he'd dated during his years as a single man after the breakdown of his first marriage, flashed him a hundred-watt grin, her teeth having had an obvious amount of expensive dental work.

"Peter Barlow. Long time, no see…" she murmured in response, propping herself up beside him at the bar, her slender chin resting on the palm of her hand, "You buying me a drink, then?"

"Still a white wine?"

"Cute. You remembered."

"No, love, you were always just too predictable," Peter teased, his words slurred as he ordered multiple drinks for both himself and his ex. They'd gotten on like a house on fire in the precious few months that they'd been together, only spitting up due to the formation of a long-distance relationship. They had never seemed to argue. Unlike himself and Carla, who would start up a blazing row over whose turn it was to cook dinner that evening. He was looking forward to an evening spent with cheerful company.

* * *

Back at home, Carla found herself glancing at the dull screen of her phone every half an hour or so, checking of any word from Peter. Nothing. She sighed, finally giving up the battle of silence and grabbing her phone from its spot, speedily dialling his number and pressing the phone to her ear. She waited. It rung once. Twice. Three times. Nothing. Within moments, she was sent straight through to Peter's answerphone, the familiar, husky tone of his voice sending a thrill through her spine.

"Babe, it's me. I'm sorry. Come home? Me and the baby are missing you like crazy…" she spoke, her hand falling to her stomach and beginning to draw slow, tender circles across it, "Just… Let me know you're okay, at least. I'm worried, and it's not good for me. I'll speak to you soon. I love you, Peter Barlow…" She sighed again as she cut her phone off and dropped it onto the empty spot beside her on the sofa, where Peter usually lay.

* * *

Peter felt a pang of guilt as he felt Sam's tongue slid past his lips and come into contact with his own. Together, they'd stumbled their way into a hotel, had somehow managed to pay for the cheapest possible room and had made out in the lifts the entire way to the top floor. He'd pressed her back against the front door as he slipped the card in to unlock it, a laugh passing his lips as they staggered into the room and eventually crashed down together on the large double bed. Her hands were all over him, burning his skin. They had taken the place of Carla's. His beautiful Carla, he was probably worried sick back at home. Another pang of guilt. As soon as he felt Sam's hand pass over the slight but not prominent bulge in his trousers, he knew, despite his drunken state, that had somewhere else to be.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet and slowly starting to back towards the door, his eyes still attempting to fix on her body, "I can't…"

"You can. It's not like we haven't done it before."

"But my girlfriend—"

"Fuck your girlfriend. She can't be that important if you're out here tonight…" Sam pointed out, perching on the edge of the bed with her arms draped over her to highlight her cleavage. Peter shook his head, now even more sure of his decision.

"She is. I love her to pieces and I shouldn't have left her tonight. I need to be with her. She's my everything. I'm sorry." Before Sam could invent another excuse for him to stay such as a snowstorm or a major traffic jam, Peter turned on his heel and immediately left the room, slamming the door shut behind him for the second time that evening, this time on a much more positive note.


	14. The Final Countdown

**Thank you for the reviews.  
To the person who said the characters aren't quite right - that's your opinion. There are many different sides to Carla and Peter, and they're not the same people they were five years ago. If they were to have a baby, they would probably develop again. This is my interpretation of them and, if you don't agree with it, that's you. Also, on the topic of swearing, they would probably swear in a real-life situation. It's only due to the watershed that they don't. As I'm writing this as reality rather than for pre-watershed, I chose to include it. There's no way you can say, "That isn't Carla" as Carla isn't a one-sided character. :)  
On the other hand, this update is pretty naff. I'm ill . But I promised some people that I'd post this tonight, so excuse the length and any mistakes!**

* * *

By this point, Carla was struggling to force her eyes to remain open, the heavy weight of her mascara bearing down on them. She'd grown reliant on her baby, who would kick her mother away each time she drifted to sleep, as if she knew that her father was on his way home to his loving family. Carla smiled to herself, her hand drifting to its ever-comforting position across the top of her bump, her thumb very lightly massaging the sensitive skin. She'd reached the stage of insecurity regarding her size and the stretch marks trailing from her crotch to just below her navel, though she constantly told herself that she would work herself into oblivion to recreate her perfect body once the baby had turned a couple of months old. She hoped that the next two months would fly by, growing tired of pregnancy and the attraction that she gained, both from her workforce and her friends. She was looking forward to somebody else stealing the limelight.

"You need to come out soon, darling…" Carla cooed, "Me and Daddy want to meet you…" Right on cue, the door of the flat creaked open and Peter poked his head around the corner, shooting his beloved girlfriend an apologetic half-smile.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked, moving fully into the room and automatically making his way over to the sofa and perching on the empty seat, still keeping a clear distance between their two bodies. He let a heavy breath pass his lips as he tilted forward, resting on his knees. Carla hesitated for only a moment before she shuffled a little closer and snaked her arm around his waist, her head tipping to touch his shoulder.

"We can't keep doing this, Peter. We're going to have a baby in two months. We can't keep getting drunk whenever we do something wrong or falling out over stupid things. I don't want this kid to have to grow up in a broken home. I've been there, done that and got the t-shirt to prove it. And look what it did to me and Rob. No, I don't want our kid to have that kind of life. I need you to feel the same. I need you to feel it here…" she murmured, lightly prodding his chest with the tips of her fingers, "Tell me you love me, Peter."

"Carla—"

"Just tell me. I need to hear you say it." With a sigh, Peter took her hands in his and clasped them tightly, his gaze meeting hers as he spoke his proclamation of love with sincerity.

"I adore you, Carla. And I'm so, so sorry for leaving you, and… Things happened tonight that I regret. As soon as I thought of you and our baby, I knew I couldn't let them go any further. I don't want anything else. I just want you, me, the baby and Simon to be a proper family. If you want to know what happened—" Quickly, Carla shook her head and touched a finger to his lips to silence him.

"I don't. It doesn't matter to me. I love you, too," she whispered in response. As she delivered a gentle, adoring kiss to his lips, everything seemed to feel right. Peter understood exactly why every time they fought and nearly fell apart, they'd soon overcome their differences and be back in each other's arms by the end of the night. It was because he'd sacrificed everything that he'd loved for her, for his Carla; he'd even gone as far as to give up his own son to keep her happy. He'd watched her struggle through horrors that no human should have to face, let alone a woman already vulnerable due to past tragedies. He'd wanted to protect her. And now, months down the line, there was no way he was willing to let his sacrifices go to waste.

* * *

"It's the final countdown, then. One month and you'll have a little pink bundle in your arms," Michelle sighed, shooting her friend a small sideways smile as she watched Carla struggle to stretch her arm far enough to grip the paperwork that had toppled to the floor between her two longer fingers. Time had flown since the two-month mark, and there had been no significant milestones in Carla and Peter's lives. Carla sucked in a sharp intake of breath as a shooting pain stabbed at her stomach, though she tried to disguise this with a subtle cough.

"Yeah. I know…" she mumbled, her hand brushing over her bulging baby bump, attempting to soothe the stirring offspring within. This was done to no avail, as she felt another burning kick-like sensation across her abdomen, followed by what felt like an unbearable period cramp, causing her to cuss under her breath. Michelle frowned.

"Babe? Are you okay…?" she asked, concern etched across her doll-like face, her wide hazel eyes even huger than usual as she stared at Carla's distressed form. Carla nodded, though her creased expression and the fear present in her eyes suggested otherwise. She gripped the desk as she slowly rose to her feet, the shift in position tensing the muscles in her abdomen and creating yet another stabbing pain.

"I'm… I don't know what's happening! Michelle, what's going on?!" she cried, letting out a sob as she collapsed back into her desk chair, unable to summon the strength required to stand, "I'm not due for another few weeks!"

"Calm down, it's probably just practice labour pains…" Michelle reasoned, though beneath the confidence that she displayed, she felt genuinely concerned for her best friend. She rushed to Carla's side and supported her as she fell to her seat, her hand then falling to Carla's baby bump.

"Has owt like this ever happened before, Car?"

"What the hell do you think?!" Michelle bit her lip as Carla scrunched her features in pain once again. She bolted back to her desk and grabbed the phone from the hook, thankful that Peter had placed his number on speed-dial since Carla had discovered that she was pregnant. At his answer, she briefly explained the situation as Carla watched on, occasionally sobbing in both agony and terror. A panicked Peter promised to be over to the factory as soon as he'd shut up the shop and been able to contact Leanne to cover for him.

"Do you want some painkillers or something?" Michelle asked. It had been many years since her own pregnancy, meaning that she found it difficult to understand exactly how Carla was feeling at that moment. Carla didn't answer. Her skin drained pale as she stared down as her thighs, her eyes wide with horror at what was taking place with her own body.

"Michelle…?" she whispered, her voice quiet with panic.

"Mm?"

"I… I think my waters have broken…"


	15. Utterly In Love

**Sorry this has taken so long - exams, shows, illness, everything! Plus, I got given the lead in Whistle Down The Wind (Swallow) at the start of the month, so I've been very busy with that! Apologies in advance that it's a bit short, rushed and jumpy (especially at the beginning!), I don't like writing birthing scenes because I'm not a medical professional, and I've never had a baby, so I'm clueless! I wrote it over the space of a week as well, never a good thing to do :/. Let me know what you think!**

**~Chloe xxx**

* * *

Peter was at work when he received the call. Or missed it, to be more precise; he had been busy serving a client whilst keeping a steely eye on the television screen, keeping his fingers crossed for a good outcome for him. In his eyes, it was still too early for Carla to go into labour, so any phone calls were unimportant compared to his job. When he gave himself a couple of minutes to slip into the office and check his voicemail, he was proved wrong, as he listened to Michelle's alarmed voice on his answerphone, informing him that his girlfriend was currently in labour and telling him to meet them at Weatherfield General as soon as possible. Instantly, he panicked. Swearing wildly under his breath, Peter rushed through to the shop and ushered all of his frustrated customers out before hastily following, locking the door behind him and starting for his car. He was stopped, however, by his father.

"Ah, Peter—"

"Not now, Dad."

"Peter? What's wrong?" Ken asked, a hint of concern flashing in his eyes. Peter was quiet for a moment, before uttering the words that he'd waited months to say.

"Carla's in labour."

"What?! But I saw her, this morning… She was going into the factory!"

"You know what she's like. She's a workaholic," Peter scoffed, "I need to get to the hospital. I'll call you later."

"Peter, wait." Peter halted in his tracks as he heard his father's voice from behind. Slowly, he turned around. "Good luck." He flashed Ken a small, somewhat nervous smile before hauling open the car door and slipping inside. He couldn't bear to spend another moment away from the two most important women in his life.

* * *

Meanwhile, Carla and Michelle had reached the hospital, by which point Carla's contractions had become closer and closer together while Michelle looked on, worried for her best friend. She had never seen such a strong, powerful woman reduced to a quivering wreck, though she had no idea just how deep Carla's fears truly ran. Carla was terrified at the prospect of motherhood and knew that Peter felt the same about the impending birth of his second child. She wanted him to be by her side, as much as she loved Michelle and was grateful for her presence. She and Peter needed to go start as they meant to go on. She wasn't having the baby without him, no matter how long it would be before he was squeezing her hand and promising her that everything was perfect, that they had a fantastic future to look forward to.

"I want Peter…" she whined, screwing her features up in pain as she felt yet another sharp contraction. Michelle sighed.

"I know," she mumbled, "I've left him a message. He'll be here, Car." Carla groaned once again, pressing her palms into her waist as she sobbed in pain. She was spread out across a hospital bed, her legs parted, a hospital gown being the only thing concealing her body and maintaining her dignity.

"I need him here now…" As if on cue, Peter burst onto the ward and, laying eyes on Carla immediately, bolted to her side, where he grasped her clenched hand and pressed his lips firmly to the back of it to demonstrate his support. They were together at last.

* * *

"Okay, Carla, one more big push, love!" the midwife called from the end of the bed, her hands positioned expertly underneath Carla's body. Obediently, Carla clenched her teeth and gripped tightly onto Peter's hand so much so that his fingertips turned white as she used every ounce of energy that she had to push, not stopping until she heard a loud cry pierce the air and felt a wave of relief rush over her. She sighed happily as she relaxed her body against the bed, her heart pounding and beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Luckily, Peter considered his girlfriend to be beautiful in every single way. He brushed his lips against the crown of her head, his lips turned up in a delighted smile as he watched the midwife and nurses crowd around the little pink bundle in a calm state; evidently, there were no obvious issues.

"It's a girl…" the midwife announced, beaming as she carried the bundle over to the delighted couple and carefully placed her across Carla's chest, which was still rising and falling at a dramatic speed.

"I love you..." Peter murmured, taking a deep breath of Carla's scent, "What perfume are you wearing, baby?"

"Yves Saint Laurent. Why?"

"Why don't we call her Evie…?" Carla hesitated, her eyes meeting her baby's, recognising the pale green shade as matching her own. The baby had a tiny button nose and little pink lips, which were pursed in a pout, just like that of her mother.

"That's pretty…" she replied, brushing the tip of her finger across the baby's crinkled forehead, a small smile playing on her own lips, "Evie? Do you like that?"

"I think she loves it," Peter agreed, sinking into the chair beside Carla's bed as he watched the two precious women in his life, transfixed by how much they meant to him. In addition to Simon, they were his absolute world. His reason for waking up each morning. What kept him from the lure of the booze.

"Evie it is, then. Evie Rose Barlow…" Carla continued, slipping her middle name in as she wanted some form of link to her daughter, particularly while she was unmarried. Peter nodded eagerly, entirely happy with their joint decision. He brushed the soft pad of his thumb underneath Evie's eye and across her cheekbone, instantly recognising her expression as his own, a trait which had also been inherited by his son. There was no denying that she was their daughter.

"She's perfect…" Carla whispered, mesmerised. All worries of impending parenthood flew from her mind as she watched baby Evie blindly guide her tiny thumb to her mouth and slip it between her lips, a habit which Carla knew she would find too adorable to have to break. Peter kissed her once again, this time pecking her cheek before allowing his lips to linger lovingly against hers.

"Like her mummy…" he mumbled. He had fallen completely and utterly in love with Carla Connor all over again. This time, they had a bond which would hold them together forever. And most importantly, they both had a reason to overcome their battles with the bottle and remain strong, for the sake of their new little family. It was them against the world.


End file.
